


An Ever Fixed Mark

by Mitsuhachi



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitsuhachi/pseuds/Mitsuhachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme prompt: Spock gets de-aged and attaches himself to Kirk. wee Spock is absolutely enamored with Kirk and decides Kirk shall be his mate. Kirk thinks it's cute but nothing serious. Then Spock ages up, and becomes more persistent in his attempts at wooing him, eventually Spock hits his teens and can overpower Kirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ever Fixed Mark

**Day 1**  
“So what exactly is so ‘highly irregular’, Mr. Spo—“ Jim Kirk’s jaw dropped momentarily, snapped back shut on the ‘k’-sound of his erstwhile first officer’s name. Standing on the transporter pad however, instead of the tall and self-possessed adult Vulcan he’d come to rely on, was Sulu, mumbling something about getting the rest of the landing party up as soon as possible. And in his arms, a tiny green-skinned boy, staring fixedly back at Jim with oddly serious eyes.

“Okay. Sulu? What the fuck?” Sulu—still bleeding from what looked like sword-wounds—actually flinched.

“They said it would probably wear off? Eventually?” Kirk glared, and Sulu straightened up to report. “Natives injected Mr. Spock an unknown substance midway through negotiations, apparently in an attempt to coerce us into accepting more favorable terms. Lt. Sanchez, Ensign Roberts, and I prevented Mr. Spock’s capture when he lost consciousness, but the natives continued to attack and the situation devolved into a fire-fight. Roberts will need immediate medical attention, and—“

“Comm McCoy.” The ensign at the transporter desk nodded, and Kirk turned back to Sulu.

“When we were safe to contact the Enterprise, Mr. Spock was…well.” Sulu jiggled the toddler on his hip for a moment. “Like this. The Renolian we captured suggested that it was in common use between their tribes as a humane method of incapacitating prisoners.”

“You captured one? Good.“ Kirk turned to Scotty. “Get him to the brig so we can talk to him. I want to—“

“Goddamit, Jim. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ah, good--Bones was finally here. He swept right past Jim to start running a tricorder over Sulu’s side. “Sulu needs medical attention, not a goddamned interrogation. And what’s this about some ensign?” Sulu swayed on his feet. “Lieutenant, you’re coming with me to Sickbay before you pass out from blood loss.” McCoy finally seemed to notice the child in Sulu’s arms, frowning down at it. “Who’s the rugrat?”

“Bones—that’s Spock.”

“…What?” McCoy put his head in his hands. “How do you people even _get_ into these situations?” Before Kirk could answer though—and this was seriously not their fault—McCoy had already turned to his team. “You two, go with Security to talk to the prisoner.” A half-second glance at Kirk was enough to confirm it was okay with the Captain. “I want to know everything they do about the compound. The rest of you, take Sulu and the pointy-eared half-pint to Sickbay. I’ll—“

Nurse Xie-min hadn’t even touched Spock before he started to cry. The whole of the transporter room froze for a minute, listening to their Vulcan first sobbing like his heart was going to break at ear-splitting volume. The toddler’s attention, though, was fixed on the far side of the room, where Kirk was standing paused half-out of the doorway.

“Jim?” McCoy was looking back and forth slowly between the howling child and his stunned captain. Spock was reaching pudgy hands out towards Kirk, opening and closing his fists as he squirmed.

“I don’t know what to—“

“Oh, honestly.” McCoy didn’t even bother discussing it, just motioned Xie-min over to the Captain. Kirk still looked uncertain, but the moment they got close enough, baby Spock fisted his hands tightly in Kirk’s uniform shirt, sobs slowing to weak, hiccup-y whines. Given the option of holding on or wearing the child like a necklace, Kirk raised his arms to support him, and Spock only snuggled closer.

“O-kaaaaay. Bones?” Spock buried his head in Kirk’s shoulder, nuzzling sleepily against his neck.

McCoy didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t think that was fucking precious. Or that he wasn’t wishing for a recorder with all his black little heart. “I think he likes you, Jimmy-boy.”

“Not funny, Bones. What am I supposed to—“ The baby mumbled something that sounded most like “my yimmmmmm…” before trailing off into contented humming.

“Why don’t you leave the prisoner to Security? Come on down to Sick Bay and we’ll get you kitted up, Papa.”

“I hate you so much sometimes, Bones. I really truly do.”

 

 **Day 15**  
“I merely wish to enquire as to _why_ I cannot accompany you to the bridge for your shift. If I am in fact, as Dr. McCoy suggests, Science Officer and First Officer aboard this vessel, is it not my duty to see to the well-being of the ship and its missions--” and he’d admit the slight green flush across the tips of those pointy ears, here, that was pretty damn cute, “as well as your own, Captain?”

On the other hand, if he had to hear the Vulcan equivalent of “but whyyyyyyy?” one more time, he might have to kill himself. “It sure is your duty. When you’re not six years old.” Aaaaand that right there was definitely a pout. He _knew_ Vulcans were full of it with that line about not having feelings. “Right now, it’s your duty to stay with Yeoman Rand so I can get my work done.”

The sight of a tiny Vulcan, arms crossed and radiating disapproval in a way that’s legitimately terrifying on a six-plus foot tall man, was kind of hilarious. “To stay with Yeoman Rand would be most illogical, Jim.” And wasn’t that the kicker? Couldn’t pay Spock to call him anything but ‘Captain’ as an adult, but to the little version… “I find her overly familiar in a most distasteful way. She is not mine. _You_ are mine. You will be my bondmate. It is most illogical to allow you to spend the entirety of the day away from me and in the company of promiscuous humans.”

It was only the sheer weirdness of the kid’s new decision that kept Kirk from laughing out loud at the idea of Rand—or any of the bridge crew for that matter—being considered a promiscuous threat to James T-for-Tomcat Kirk’s virtue. “Your what?”

“My bondmate.” Spock tilted his head, as though trying to figure out why the illogical human was fixating on a part of his argument that was so tangential to the point. “As you are obviously important to me, intelligent, competent, and very beautiful, I have decided that when I am of age, I shall make you my bondmate.” It was all said in a tone that clearly communicated ‘well, DUH’ without managing any real inflection. Vulcans were kind of amazing like that. Still, it was so absurd that Kirk couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t think so, kiddo.” Again, the childish face pulled into a scowl. Before he could begin to argue though, Rand knocked smartly on the open door to the captain’s chambers and Kirk turned to leave. “You’ll get why when you’re older. And I’ll come get you for lunch, okay?”

He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised when Spock showed up on the bridge a half hour later.

**Day 23**

“I will provide satisfactorily sweet and nutritionally balanced baked goods for you every day, if you will consummate the link and be my bondmate?”

Kirk looked up from his padd. Spock was standing at attention, looking back at him seriously. He took a minute to parse that (something about a link?) and finally asked, “If I marry you, you’ll give me cookies?”

Mini-Spock nodded. “I believe I said that.”

Kirk bit his lip. _Don’t be an ass, self. Don’t laugh. Don’t._ “I can get my own cookies. Perks of being the captain.”

“I would not prohibit you from keeping a domesticated animal of Terran, Vulcan or other Federation-legal planetary origins? I myself have experience raising and training a sehlat to specifications I believe you will find satisfactory. Or you could…” The kid looked down, ears going a fetching green. “You could have a kitten, if you prefer. I am given to understand that they are considered appropriate animal companions on Earth.” …Spock likes kittens. If Kirk didn’t let up on his lip pretty soon it was going to _bleed._

“Non-regulation animals are not allowed aboard Starfleet vessels, Commander,” Kirk managed with something approximating a straight face. Childish lips thinned in frustration.

“I will continually find new scientific and tactical journals, museum exhibits on various subjects, and viewing material of educational value sufficient to challenge you intellectually and engage your attention in pleasing and useful ways. You will not be at a loss for diversions.”

That was it; a Vulcan was offering to help him have fun, and the laughter just _burst_ out of his chest until he was gasping helplessly around it. Once he could breathe again, though—once he opened his eyes—it was immediately apparent that it was the wrong thing to have done. Spock’s bottom lip was trembling, just the slightest bit, pinched tight beneath an anguished frown.

“I would do my utmost, for the rest of our days, to provide for your physical, intellectual, and emotional well-being.”

For a long minute, Kirk just took in the wet (human) eyes, the flushed cheeks, the stoically imploring look that seemed so bizarre on a childish face. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “You probably would.”

 **Day 37**  
“Oh hell no.”

Jim Kirk paused in his own doorway, watching as a barely-pubescent Vulcan sat up blinking sleepily in his bed. For a long minute, he seriously considered turning and holing up in Sickbay. “What are you doing in here?”

He got an eyebrow for that. “I had been attempting to sleep. While Vulcans require less sleep than Humans statistically, they cannot forego it entirely.” The clipped, ‘this is obvious’ tone was distinctly pissier than it had been a few days ago.

“Right. What are you doing _in my bed_? Why aren’t you in your own rooms?” Kirk walked further into the room, standing next to the bunk so that mini!Spock was looking up at him, eyes dark and intent, through his eyelashes.

For a long time, Spock merely looked at him, quiet and still. He seemed to be waiting for something. “Parted from me and never parted,” he said eventually, reaching up to hold Kirk’s hand. It was spoken with a strange, slow cadence that made Kirk wonder if he was quoting something, or perhaps translating in his head. Lit only by the low light filtering in from the hallway, the boy looked entirely alien for a moment—something utterly strange and unknowable, yet achingly familiar.

And then Spock nodded decisively to himself, petting along the backs of Kirk’s fingers, and the moment broke. “Our circumstances are not such that our living quarters are at a great remove,” he said, looking awkward, almost embarrassed. “Why should I be anywhere else?” A faint dusting of green spread over the high cheekbones just starting to show from under childish softness, and Spock’s eyes seemed to beg him to understand something he wasn’t saying, perhaps couldn’t say. It was seriously, way too late at night for this shit.

“Well, let’s start with the fact that I don’t sleep with twelve-year-olds, cruise right past the part where you’re my First and not some hookup,” and he didn’t feel bad about that, even watching the little flinch of hurt cross the boy’s face at the rejection, not really, “and just settle on, I don’t know, the fact that you have your own room right there?”

“I am not a ‘hookup’,” Spock mumbled, frowning down at where he’d tangled their fingers together. “I am he who shall be thy bonded.”

Kirk just facepalmed. “Well, right now you are he who shall put some fucking pants on and go to his own room.”

 **Day 42**  
“What the hell happened?” Kirk carried the shivering teen draped limply across his arms further into Sickbay, hurrying towards the biobed McCoy pointed out.

“I don’t know; he was acting weird this morning, but I just figured it was, you know, the being a teenager thing. And then he started panting like he couldn’t breathe, and the shaking started, and he passed out.”

Bones passed the tricorder over Spock’s body. “He’s burning up—Androgenes, Estrogens, Adreno-typal hormones….Jim, his system’s going nuts, I’ve never seen anything like it…”

The hiss of the hypospray behind him signaled Chris Chapel’s arrival. “Fever reducers, and a mild sedative,” she told him, watching McCoy cursing at the readings still coming off the tricorder. Something about the medication must have helped, though, because Kirk watched the muscles in Spock’s shoulders relax just the tiniest fraction, and his eyes lid half-open.

“Jim…” Something hard and choking in Kirk’s chest throbbed at the tremble in Spock’s hand as the teen reached out to him. “sa-telsu t'nash-veh… eit'jae-veh k’du…”

Across the room, a tray of hypos went crashing to the ground. The palm that pressed up against Jim’s was searing.

“Nam-tor Pon Farr t’du ha?” M’benga leaned over the bio-bed, trying to get Spock to look at him. Spock just curled his fingers around the edge of Jim’s hand, drawing two fingers firmly across his knuckles. “Nam-tor t’du ha?”

Spock let his eyes fall closed, stroked up to the tips of Kirk’s fingers. “Haaa…” he whispered, barely a rough breath with dark eyes still fixed on Kirk. Jim was only vaguely aware of M’Benga pulling McCoy aside to whisper something at him, of McCoy cursing whatever-it-was pretty solidly. Spock was dragging the tips of his fingers down the insides of Jim’s, trailing them across his palm.

Jim could feel himself getting hard, even before the fingers clenched tight around his wrist. “—need to be secluded, at least two days. He could be a danger—“ He was catching just bits and pieces of McCoy and M’Benga’s argument, unable to focus. Spock sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and pulling Jim closer by the wrist in one smooth movement. The kid was nothing but long sinuous lines, face already sharpening into the shape of manhood, long arms slender as a girl’s but strong enough to back Kirk up against the wall and pin him there.

“Jim,” he whispered, raising his hand to ghost fingers over the meld-points on Kirk’s temple, his cheek. Somewhere far away there may have been shouting, but in the hushed space between them Jim could no more bite back the strangled ‘yes’ than he could stop his heart from beating.

Fingertips dug bruisingly hard against the meld-points, and the scalding heat pouring through them was so intense that for a long moment, it seemed to be a physical thing, reaching tendrils into his mind. They grew more intense though, flooding over his thoughts like the superheated air coming off of the engine-cores, until Kirk thought he would drown in the sheer need, the paralyzing lust. _Mine_ , came the thought, redolent with pleasure. _One with me, and together,_ and satisfaction, so at odds with the desperation in the fingers clawing at his thoughts. Then a sense of having found what he was looking for, almost smug, quickly silenced by shocks of sensation almost too intense to be called pleasure, waves of electric jolts pouring over him, on and on in a way male bodies were never meant to support until, when the blackness took him, it was almost a relief.

 

**Day 43, ship’s dawn**

The wetness on his stomach was getting cold, sticky and uncomfortable in a way he didn’t usually like to leave. Jim thought about getting up, going to grab a towel or maybe a sonic shower. But he was strangely warm, all across his shoulders and cheek, given how cool the room felt, and laying on something that vibrated gently beneath him in a weirdly comforting way (…so it reminded him of the hum of the Enterprise’s impulse engines. It was still nice). He found himself strangely reluctant to get up, curling into the soft texture of his pillow.

 _I know you’re awake._ Jim peeled one eye open—hearing voices was far enough into ‘definitely not normal’ territory to be worth waking up the rest of the way for. Though his alarm was somewhat tempered by amusement as he took in what looked like a quarantine chamber from the locks. _So remarkably pleasing, my bonded._ Spock was curled protectively around the head of the bio-bed they were laying on, letting Jim doze on the hollow of his belly. His skin was what had been keeping Jim so warm, though it seemed slightly cooler today, and his eyes were clearer.

Jim let his head fall back against Spock’s hip, eyes closing again—in confusion this time, instead of sleep. “What are we—“ Two fingers (rougher today than before?) traced over his mouth. _Jim._ The fingers dipped in between, teasing at his tongue, the soft insides of his lips.

 _Spock?_ he thought, sucking lightly at the fingertips in his mouth more from habit than anything else. The edges of Spock’s lips quirked minutely.

 _Parted from me and never parted,_ he heard echo back in his own mind, full of satisfaction and the embers of want.

And as Spock rolled them until he was pinned again against the bed, all he could think was _Sweet._

 

**Vulcan:**

“Jim, sa-telsu t'nash-veh… eit'jae-veh k’du—“ = ‘Jim, my bondmate…please—‘  
“Nam-tor Pon Farr t’du ha?”, “Nam-tor t’du ha?” = “Is it your Time?”, “Is it?”  
“Ha,” = “Yes.”


End file.
